


Stars

by hiyoris_scarf



Category: Lunar Chronicles - Marissa Meyer
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Tangled, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-13
Updated: 2017-04-13
Packaged: 2018-10-18 13:13:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10617612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hiyoris_scarf/pseuds/hiyoris_scarf
Summary: The world wasn't ready for Crescent Moon.At least, that is what she told herself as she lay on her bed, her face turned toward the marvelous constellations, the wheeling galaxies that sprawled across the tower ceiling. She had painted an entire sky just for herself, and Cress adored every inch of it.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JoKay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoKay/gifts).



> HAPPY BIRTHDAY JO <3333333

The world wasn’t ready for Crescent Moon.

At least, that is what she told herself as she lay on her bed, her face turned toward the marvelous constellations, the wheeling galaxies that sprawled across the tower ceiling. She had painted an entire sky just for herself, and Cress adored every inch of it.

Mistress Sybil, Cress’s generous caretaker, had spent many of the spare moments of her young life hammering into her head that the world would devour her if she stepped out of her tower. Sybil told her the awful things she heard: about cruel men who would sell her off piece by piece, about beasts that lurked in the forest just beyond the tower’s meadow, about earthquakes and fires and floods.

She told Cress many horrible stories about the world outside her tower. But Sybil never mentioned the stars.

Cress did not ask her about them.

But she was sure—absolutely, viscerally sure, as she lay there drinking in the painted light of her own universe—that a world with such stars in it could not possibly be all that bad.

And so she always whispered to herself as she wrapped her hair around her fingers, that the world simply wasn’t ready for her yet. She promised herself she would see it someday.

Cress hoped the world would be ready by then.

: : :

A mere three hours into her acquaintanceship with Carswell Thorne, Cress began to think Mistress Sybil had made up the “men with pointy teeth” part of her lecture. Thorne’s teeth were not pointy. Cress noticed this when he insisted she refer to him as “captain,” then proceeded to walk straight off the edge of a bank and into a shallow stream.

Despite Thorne’s mishap, Cress kept thinking of his teeth. They were nice teeth. They were straight, and white, and she found herself looking at them a great deal more than was probably appropriate. He had a very nice face in general.

Cress began to feel her stomach tighten oddly, and little flutters swam through her lungs.

She had not known Carswell Thorne for half a day before she began to fall in love with him.

If Thorne noticed this, he said nothing about it. He acted the same way he had since she first slammed him brutally over the head with a cast-iron frying pan.

Which was to say, irritated.

“Hey, blondie.” He tapped her on the shoulder. Cress whirled on him, and Thorne quickly backed up a step.

“It’s okay! I won’t eat you.”

He flashed those stupidly perfect teeth at her. Cress’s heartbeat instantly tripled in speed, galloping beneath her sternum like a runaway horse.

“I can’t help but notice,” Thorne said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “That you seem a bit…overwhelmed by all this.”

He made a sweeping gesture toward their surroundings. The forest was quiet. Pollen floated down to the ground, illuminated by bars of sunlight that seeped through the trees. Cress’s eyes caught on a few spiraling leaves, following them in their tiny orbits all the way to the forest floor.

It was more beautiful than anything she could have imagined. And Cress was very, very good at imagining.

So, even though she _was_ a bit overwhelmed, she shook her head quickly at Thorne.

“I’m not overwhelmed,” she replied, in what she thought was a passable imitation of his confident manner. “Captain,” she added hastily.

Thorne cocked an eyebrow. Cress squared her shoulders and stared up at him with as much ferocity as her tiny, overwhelmed self could muster.

After a few seconds, he shrugged.

“All right then,” he said, making a big show of sounding casual. “If you’re certain about that, then I suppose we’ll have to find someplace decent to eat before setting off. It’s a long walk to the kingdom, you understand.”

Cress nodded vigorously, relieved Thorne was finally showing the slightest interest in guiding her to see the stars.

_Lanterns_ , she corrected herself. Thorne had told her of the lights’ true nature as annual beacons for the lost princess. Cress allowed herself a moment of fantasy: what would it be like to be that lost little princess? To have so much celebration all in her honor?

_What would it be like,_ Cress wondered, _to be wanted so very, very badly?_

“Where are we going?” she asked after ten more minutes of walking. Thorne was, of course, badly outpacing her. Cress felt a spark of panic that he might be trying to leave her behind.

“Oh, we’re nearly there,” he said over his shoulder. So Cress stumbled over her hair and tried to keep up.

Several minutes later, the two of them burst out of the trees and into a sunlit glen. At the far side, a cozy building nestled up against the trees. Smoke curled out of its cheerful, red-brick chimney, and a sign swinging over the door advertised the establishment as:

“The _Rampion_?” Cress asked.

“Cleanest, friendliest little place I know,” Thorne confirmed. “It’ll be _perfect_ for you.”

: : :

The _Rampion_ was a den of iniquity: a haven for outlaws, gamblers, traffickers, and thieves alike. Once, Thorne had even seen a man saw off his own ear in here after losing a bet. By now, Cress should have been running away as fast as that ridiculous hair would let her.

Instead, she was sitting at the largest table in the place, snuggled protectively between Scarlet Benoit (known to the kingdom police as the “Crimson Scourge”) and Jacin Clay (a disgraced ex-guard, still wickedly talented with a crossbow), and sipping from a very large cup of milk.

Cinder arrived silently next to Thorne and levered his open, swinging jaw shut with one finger.

“She’s supposed to be running away,” he muttered in fervent disbelief.

“Oh yes,” Cinder said. “She looks absolutely terrified.”

Thorne could picture the wry twist of her mouth as she observed Cress laughing heartily at something Scarlet had just said.

“You were _supposed_ to scare her off!” he said in betrayal.

Cinder snorted loudly. “Since when do we do what _you_ want, Thorne?”

“Since I became captain, of course!”

Cinder pursed her lips and shook her head. She fell silent, watching the group around the table. By now, even Kai and Wolf had been drawn into the conversation.

It was clear to Thorne that Cress’s ignorance—though complete—was not going to result in her screaming from the _Rampion_ all the way back into her tower. It also meant he was going to have to go through with his deal to take her to see the floating lanterns.

A few hours ago, that probably would have infuriated him.

Thorne glanced at Cinder out of the corner of his eye, only to see she was already scrutinizing him. And—what was worse—she looked thoughtful.

When Cinder Linh looked thoughtful, it was only a matter of time before things started to explode.

“Oh no,” he muttered.

“What do you mean, ‘oh no’?”

Thorne began backing away from her.

“I didn’t say anything!” Cinder protested, but a sly glint in her eye told Thorne she was scheming. He was pretty sure this was one scheme he wanted to avoid.

Collapsing at an empty chair at the end of the long table, Thorne managed to perk up enough to give the gorgeous, curly-haired barmaid his most debonair grin. She walked over to him.

“Can I get you something, captain?” she asked sweetly.

Thorne pressed a hand to his heart.

“Oh, Winter, if only you knew how my heart aches when you call me ‘captain’.”

From the opposite end of the table, Jacin shot him a look of pure hatred. Winter just smiled, her honey-gold eyes crinkling slightly around the corners.

“Then I will strive to avoid doing so in the future,” she said. “Since heartache is bad for the skin.”

“That, it most certainly is,” Thorne groaned in agreement.

Winter set a tankard of his usual order in front of him, then returned to the bar to cast her eyes dreamily in Jacin’s vague direction. Thorne never seemed to be able to miss the longing gazes between those two, though he desperately wished he could. In whatever language Jacin and Winter spoke with each other, longing gazes seemed to be used more often than words.

Thorne shook his head. Didn’t they know heartache was bad for the skin?

His gaze fell on Cress again. She was talking animatedly to Iko, who had somehow already managed to weave most of that waterfall of hair into a thick golden braid. From across the loud table, he could just manage to pick out their conversation.

“You’ve really lived all your life alone in a tower?” Iko asked incredulously. She wove another intricate fishtail into Cress’s heavy braid. “Heavens, and I thought _I_ had it bad.”

“Well…” Cress wavered, her gaze falling to her fingertips. “Not… _alone_ alone. Mistress Sybil visited me.”

Iko gave a doubtful “hmm.” Her fingers never stopped skillfully twisting and braiding.

“And I had books,” Cress mused. Her eyes seemed to fix on something faraway. “I had the birds outside, and the wind that sang to me…and the stars…”

Cress trailed off. Her eyes found Thorne’s. He should have looked away.

He did not.

At that moment, the door crashed open and Scarlet marched in, two empty pitchers swinging from her hands.

“Bad news,” she announced. She slammed the pitchers on the table and planted a hand on her hip. “Royal guard is here.”

Cress’s entire body stiffened. Iko stopped braiding. Jacin cursed, not bothering to keep it under his breath. Kai and Cinder exchanged a concerned glance. Wolf, however, immediately rose from his seat, walked over to the piano, picked it up, and calmly placed it in front of the door.

“That should make it a bit more difficult to get in,” he said, brushing off his hands. Scarlet smiled at him in disgustingly obvious adoration.

“Hmm,” said Kai, frowning deeply. “I wonder who could _possibly_ have done something reckless enough to get the royal guard sent after them?”

Thorne coughed.

“I don’t know,” Jacin said, narrowing his eyes. “But they probably stole something priceless, and they probably did it in a very stupid, showy way.”

Thorne grimaced and emptied his tankard. He got up from the table to walk toward the bar.

“It was probably someone with a gigantic ego,” Scarlet observed. She rolled her eyes as Thorne walked by and winked at her.

“And a misplaced sense of authority,” Cinder said, smirking. “You going somewhere, ‘ _captain_ ’?”

“As a matter of fact, I am on a very important mission,” Thorne said. He tapped Cress’s elbow, and she sprang instantly to her feet. “I’ve made a promise to a lady to show her the famous floating lanterns, and not even a visit from the royal guard can make Captain Carswell Thorne break a promise.”

He chose to ignore the pointed look Cinder and Iko gave him, and then Cress, and then each other.

They all startled as a heavy pounding sounded against the door. There was shouting, then a significantly louder crash that made the piano rock dangerously into the room on its crooked legs.

“We should probably hurry,” Thorne muttered to Cress out of the side of his mouth.

Behind the bar, Winter yanked a hidden lever. One of the cupboards swung off its hinges, revealing a narrow, low-ceilinged passage yawning straight into the earth. Next to Thorne, Cress pulled her massive braid over her shoulder and began tugging her nervous fingers through the end of it.

“We’re going in _there_?” she asked apprehensively. Then she jumped as the piano-blocked door received another heavy blow, rattling in its doorframe.

“You’ll be fine,” Iko said, full of confidence. She reeled Cress in for a quick, tight hug. “You’re with Thorne!”

Cress looked up at him, and her mouth bunched to one side. Thorne didn’t allow himself to wonder why her hesitation stung him.

“That’s right,” he said. “I promised to get you to those lanterns, didn’t I?”

Cress’s mouth untwisted itself, and her eyebrows softened. Thorne wanted to earn her trust (it was, after all, much easier to manage someone that way)—but he was significantly less sure about the strange warmth in his chest.

“Yes,” Cress said. “You did.”

As the two of them ducked into the passageway, Winter placed her hand on Thorne’s shoulder. A mysterious smile played with the corners of her mouth.

“Make sure to take care of your skin, captain,” she whispered. She cast Cress a side glance that was anything but subtle, and Thorne immediately found it necessary to drag her into the tunnel after him. The cupboard slammed shut behind them, sealing them away from the _Rampion_ and the rest of the outside world.

: : :

“Well?” Thorne asked breathlessly, once they were free of their pursuers. “You’re still _sure_ you don’t want to go back to your nice, nonviolent tower?”

Cress was doubled over, gripping her ribs. She didn’t have the wind to respond. Despite the many times she had imagined herself on the run from the law, nothing could have prepared her for the real thing.

The real thing had a lot more arrows.

Thanks to a hidden cave, its mouth heavily curtained with vines, the two of them managed to avoid capture by the royal guard. However, it was now clear to Cress that her chosen guide had a rather large price on his head, and it was possible their entrance into the kingdom might be more difficult than anticipated.

Thorne took a step away from the wall, then hissed and clutched his side. Cress watched from the corner of her eye as he lifted his shirt to reveal a streak of ugly red on his ribcage—a shallow gash left by one of the guards’ arrows. Cress flinched.

Thorne noticed her discomfort and lowered his shirt at once.

“Nothing serious,” he said cheerfully. “When you’re as popular as I am, you catch a few arrows now and then.”

Cress could only look down at her hands.

“They didn’t hurt you, did they?” Thorne asked kindly.

She shook her head in silence. Then, she raised her eyes to his side. Blood had already begun to seep through the shirt.

“I can help you with that,” she said.

Thorne looked at her like she had suddenly sprouted wings.

“Not to be rude,” he said. “But you don’t seem like the medical type. Unless, of course, you’ve hidden a roll of bandages in all that hair.”

A giggle burst out of her, and Thorne’s eyebrows shot upward.

“Not exactly,” she said. “Um. Can you…?”

She gestured for him to roll his shirt up again, and his eyebrows ascended still further. After a loaded pause, he obliged, lifting his bloodstained shirt to reveal the wound.

Cress closed the distance between them. She wrapped the very end of her braid around one hand. Iko really had done a wonderful job, and Cress felt bad ruining her work.

“Blondie,” Thorne said cautiously, as though he were speaking to an easily frightened animal. “What are you doing?”

She sucked in a deep breath, then looked up at him. She needed to tilt her head almost all the way back to meet his eyes.

“I have magic hair that glows when I sing,” she proclaimed.

Then Cress pressed her braid-wrapped hand to his wounded side, and she sang.

: : :

“She has magic hair,” Thorne was still muttering to himself. It was the morning after Cress had healed him. “She has magic, healing hair that glows when she sings.”

They were back on their way to the kingdom, but even after a night of much-needed rest in the hidden cave, Thorne showed no sign of recovering from the shock of Cress’s hair.

“Magic hair is fine,” Thorne soliloquized. “Magic hair is perfectly normal and fine. I am fine with the magic hair.”

Cress had to trot to keep up with him. Once again, he seemed to have forgotten her legs were one-third the length of his.

“Are you okay?” she asked worriedly.

“Absolutely,” he said. He continued staring dead ahead, and his voice cracked up half an octave on the single word.

Cress frowned. “Are you su—”

Thorne screeched to a halt, with Cress barreling into him. He wheeled on her, prompting her to take a hasty step back.

“Yes, I’m sure! You know _why_ I’m sure?” He didn’t give her time to respond. “Because you—you—”

He pointed at Cress. His finger shook. His eyes were wide. Overall, her impression of him was not one of sanity.

“— _You_ have magic healing hair that glows when you sing! And that is why I’m sure.”

Thorne crossed his arms, breathing heavily. He was leaning down toward her, so Cress could see the pronounced twitch establishing itself in his right eyelid. Her own eyebrows knit together.

“Captain,” she said tentatively. “Are you…afraid of my hair?”

“Afraid of your _hair_?” Thorne shrieked, then cleared his throat. “What kind of a—why would—of _course_ I’m not—”

He coughed, then straightened back up to his considerable height. Cress found herself enjoying the subtle changes of his face as he strove to justify his reaction.

“Your hair intrigues me,” he said.

A smile tugged at the corners of Cress’s lips.

“It intrigues you?”

She pulled the thick braid over her shoulder, waving it toward him. Thorne couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away from it.

“You’re intrigued because it’s _magical_?” she asked innocently.

“Stop that,” he said.

“Stop what?”

He batted her hand away.

_“That.”_

Cress waved the braid at him some more, grinning wickedly.

“Is my hair just too intriguing for you?”

Thorne stared at her in disbelief, then snorted. He swatted her hand away again.

“You really like to push your luck, don’t you, blondie?”

A few minutes later, the two of them rounded a bend in the path. The trees came to an end, and in their place was a view that stole Cress’s breath.

The kingdom city was there, laid out below them, white and shining in the noon light. Engulfed by its protective walls, the spires and turrets of the castle glistened like spears of ivory.

Her imagination hadn’t prepared her for such a place. And so many _people._

After allowing her to take in the sight, Thorne drew her attention back to him by clearing his throat. He squared his shoulders with an air of supreme importance.

“All right,” he said. He smiled down at her, and Cress’s heart gave an alarming stammer. “Let’s go see some lanterns.”

: : :

After they had been floating in the gathering dusk for quite some time, Thorne’s eyes fixed on a faraway point over Cress’s shoulder. He stopped handing her flowers to tuck into her braid.

“Look,” he said. And Cress looked.

A single freckle of light rose from the castle balcony. It dipped in the still air, then suddenly caught a soft evening breeze. The speck of light soared high, climbing toward the zenith of dark blue.

Cress couldn’t breathe. She had to keep watching. She couldn’t miss a single second of it.

Stumbling to the front of the boat, her bare feet slipping on the damp boards, she threw herself against the rowboat’s front bow. Cress clung to it, wrapping her arms around the bow and and hanging as far out over the water as she possibly could.

Once the first lantern took flight, hundreds followed. The night turned golden, alight with a thousand brilliant new stars that outshone the everyday ones. They were so much larger, so much warmer—so much more _real—_ than when Cress had leaned out her tower window to gaze at them.

“Hey.”

Cress startled. She turned to look back at Thorne, and saw he was holding two lanterns: one for each of them.

“This was your dream, wasn’t it?” he asked. “You should have a chance to do it right.”

After a bit of wobbling, Cress found her way back to the middle of the boat. She was speechless with joy and another, more complicated emotion that escaped description. Carefully taking one of the lanterns, she was excruciatingly aware of Thorne’s warm hand beneath hers.

Together, they launched the lantern skyward. Cress followed it with her eyes until it merged with the cloud of lights above their heads. The boat on the glassy surface of the lake seemed to hang suspended between two starry skies.

“It really is kind of pretty,” Thorne acknowledged, trying, and ultimately failing, to sound unimpressed.

“I never thought it would be like this,” Cress whispered. One of the thousand drifting lanterns sank down toward her. She reached out over the edge of the boat to catch it with the tips of her fingers, and sent it sailing skyward again.

“It’s too beautiful,” she said, the words catching on a knot in her throat. She couldn’t tear her eyes from the spectacle of light above their heads.

She did not see that Thorne was no longer looking at the lanterns.

“Yes,” he said quietly. “It is.”

A single tear crept down Cress’s cheek, and slid soundlessly off the tip of her chin. She had found her galaxy at last.

: : :

Carswell Thorne had spent so long pretending to fall in love, he didn’t know what to do when it actually happened. And—had he not been in the middle of a rescue operation to save the aforementioned love—he would have been able to properly panic about it.

“Can you guys buy me some time?” he called to Cinder over his shoulder. She threw an elbow into the throat of the man she was fighting and gave him a quick nod. Behind her, Wolf effortlessly picked up two unfortunate members of the royal guard and crashed their helmeted heads together.

“What are you waiting for?!” he snarled at Thorne. “Get going!”

Swinging himself up onto one of the guards’ skittering horses, Thorne flew from the fight and into the deep forest, toward the tower he’d climbed just a few days ago.

A lot had changed since then.

: : :

Cress closed her eyes. Mistress Sybil had bound her wrists tightly to her own bedpost and stuffed a gag in her mouth. She was a prisoner again. All she could do was close her eyes and will her thoughts toward Thorne.

_Don’t come here. Don’t try to save me._

If she had to live the rest of her life without the stars, Cress could endure it. If it meant Thorne could be free and alive, she could definitely endure it.

Suddenly, something heavy thumped to the floor of the tower room. Cress’s eyes flew open. She turned her neck toward the window, only to see someone stumbling through it.

Thorne got to his feet, and his eyes found hers. Shock washed over his face.

“Blondie?” he said. His voice was weak with relief as he rushed forward to untie her.

Cress screamed, choking around the gag, and threw herself against the bindings. She shook her head at him in desperation.

Behind Thorne, Sybil melted out of the darkness.

“Well now,” she purred. “That wasn’t very smart of you, was it?”

Thorne whirled, his body blocking Cress from Sybil’s advance. The woman strode toward him, and with a lightning-quick movement she cast a fistful of what looked like dust into his face. Cress watched in horror as Thorne cried out. He crashed to his knees, gripping his face with both hands.

Sybil looked down on him in satisfaction.

“Then again,” she said smoothly, “You haven’t exactly struck me as someone for whom high intellect has been a problem.”

As Thorne writhed before her, Sybil slowly withdrew the long knife from her belt. She placed a hand on his shoulder, shoving him upward until he was on his knees. Though his back was to her, Cress saw his hands were clawing at his face, trying to get the powder out of his eyes.

“I can’t see,” Thorne said, horrified.

Sybil drove the knife through his heart.

Cress shrieked around the gag. She hurled her weight again and again against the rope until the skin of her wrists was burnt and raw.

Sybil withdrew the long, dripping knife from Thorne’s chest, and it clattered to the floor. She let him fall face-first to the ground. The impact of his body shook the floor against Cress’s feet.

“We’re leaving now, Crescent,” Sybil said impassively. She inspected her nails with distaste, checking for signs of gore.

Cress shook her head frantically. She poured every ounce of concentration into wriggling her hands from the rope. Maybe…if she could loosen it a little—only a _little bit—_

Sybil plucked the gag from between her teeth, and Cress coughed. Her tongue was numb and cottony, and clung to the bottom of her mouth.

“That didn’t take very long, did it?” Sybil muttered to herself. “What a pathetic excuse for a boy.”

She worked at the knots binding Cress to the bedpost, keeping the ones around her wrists secure. While she was occupied, Cress worked her wrists together, her skin chafing with every movement. At last, the rope gave way.

Cress yanked herself free of her restraints and threw herself toward Thorne before Sybil could react. She snatched the knife from the ground and pressed the tip of it against her own throat.

Sybil stood a few feet away, her strong-boned face frozen in shock.

“I’ll do it,” Cress rasped. Her tongue was as dry as sand. “I promise you, I will do it.”

The enraged contortion of Sybil’s face was as unsettling as it was instant. She ground her teeth so loudly Cress could hear it from across the room.

“You don’t have the spine,” Sybil hissed.

Cress swallowed. Against the tip of the knife, a bead of blood appeared. Sybil’s eyes dropped to it, and the color drained from her face.

“Let me save him,” Cress said, her voice a pathetic whisper. “I’ll go with you—but only if you let me save him.”

Sybil stared at her, her face as motionless and pale as marble. Finally, when the knifepoint began to tremble against Cress’s throat, she gave a curt nod.

Cress dropped the knife. Grabbing one of Thorne’s shoulders, she used all her strength to pull him over onto his back.

She sobbed in horror. His entire front was soaked with blood, and her hands came away red.

But he was still alive.

“Cress?” he asked hopefully.

Thorne’s eyes were still open, though the skin around them was inflamed. The whites themselves were now angry red, shot with thick blood vessels. Cress cradled his head in her lap, seeking recognition in those empty eyes.

“I’m here, captain,” she whispered. “I’m going to heal you with my intriguing, magical hair.”

The corners of Thorne’s mouth twitched weakly, but the smile slipped away as quickly as it came. It was replaced with a disappointed furrow between his eyebrows.

“Why can’t I see you?” he asked. “Cress. Why can’t I see?”

Cress leaned down until the tip of her nose touched the tip of his.

“Don’t worry. I’ll make it so you can see again.”

She felt him sigh softly against her cheek. One of his hands came up to cup her face, and Cress leaned into it.

Then, out of nowhere, Thorne had the knife. He seized her hair, dragging the blade through it in one swift slash. It was so fast, Cress didn’t realize what had happened until she heard a shriek.

“No!” screamed Sybil. She rushed forward, gathering the useless hair into her arms, pressing it to her face, trying to steal the last of its power. She dropped to her knees, sobbing desperately into the pile of hair—and then she collapsed to the floor. Her hands shriveled away to nothing, right in front of Cress’s disbelieving eyes. Sybil’s last wretched, bereft cry echoed in the tower room like a restless ghost.

Just like that, Mistress Sybil was no more.

But Thorne was still dying.

“Is she gone?” Thorne asked. His breathing had a terrible rattling sound underneath it.

Cress couldn’t find the voice to answer him. He was dying, and now she had no way to save him. Thorne coughed, and the crooked, charming smile crept back onto his face.

“Rescuing a fair damsel in distress is an end worthy of a captain,” he said faintly. “Although I was kind of hoping I’d be able to _see_ it.”

“You aren’t really a captain,” Cress choked out.

“Hey,” Thorne said. “Be nicer to the guy who just got stabbed.”

She made a sound that was half-laugh, half-sob. She cupped his cheeks in both hands, pressing their foreheads together. Thorne ran one hand through her soft, newly shorn hair.

“If you’re here,” he whispered. “I think I can see the stars.”

: : :

Cress didn’t know when she started crying—only that it felt like she had been shedding tears forever, and yet not nearly long enough. Fat drops kept sliding off the end of her nose, splashing forlornly onto Thorne’s waxen face.

Cress squeezed her eyes shut, unwilling to see him like this. Unable to think of him as gone.

Another tear crept from under her eyelid. Before it could fall, a warm finger wiped it away.

“You’re never going to believe this,” said Thorne’s voice. Miraculously. _Impossibly._ “But I’ve actually never had a pretty girl crying her eyes out over my dead body before. It’s worth experiencing.”

Cress’s eyes sprang open. She jerked her face away from Thorne’s. His eyes were open, gazing up at her with the little smile-wrinkles in the corners she had always found so endearing. Slowly, Cress raised her head.

Where there had once been a wound in Thorne’s chest, there was now light: swirling and vanishing in comet-trails that lit up the entire shadowy room. Cress blinked in the sudden brightness, her mouth falling open in astonishment.

Thorne was not looking at the light. He was looking at her.

“But—” Cress fumbled. “But—my hair—”

He combed his fingers through it again.

“I think it looks better this way,” he said, beaming.

Cress laughed hysterically. Tears continued rolling from her eyes, sliding down the creases of her nose, dripping over her lips and down her chin. Her face was blotchy and swollen, but Thorne stared up at her with his wonderfully clear, _seeing_ eyes, and he didn’t appear to care that she was sobbing all over him.

“I’m so sorry I said you weren’t a captain,” Cress hiccuped, scrubbing a futile sleeve across her nose.

In response, Thorne dragged her into his arms—she yelped—and he kissed her.

He kissed her so thoroughly, so impatiently, and so relentlessly, that by the time he was quite done they were both out of breath and red in the face. “You see,” he said, once they had both come up for air. “I would have had trouble doing that with all the magic hair in the way.”

: : :

Cress leaned against the ledge of one of the palace’s upper balconies, resting her chin on her small fists. She was short enough that the balcony ledge reached all the way to her upper chest. It was arguably one of the nicest places in the kingdom to view the floating lanterns.

But not the best.

On impulse, Cress dashed into the hallway. Her shoes slid across the marble floors, nearly barreling her headfirst into Wolf, who looked remarkably dashing in his uniform as the head of the royal guard.

“Have you seen—?” she began, but Wolf just quirked a thumb over his shoulder toward the back stairs. He was wearing a mischievous grin, which instantly awoke Cress’s suspicions. She flew down the stairs, dashing through the back hallways of the castle toward the dockside exit.

She heard voices even before she pushed open the heavy wooden door that let out onto the castle’s private docks. One of the voices was Thorne’s.

“Dammit, Cinder, a captain knows how to row!

“Really?” came Cinder’s equally aggravated voice. “Because you’re holding that thing like you’re about to joust with it. And you’re not really a _captain_ , so don’t even think about—”

Cinder’s irate voice trailed off as the door groaned on its hinges. Cress peered around the edge.

Cinder and Thorne stood opposite each other on either side of a moored rowboat. They were each holding an oar, and both were flushed with guilt and exertion. Iko stood between them, and appeared to be trying to stage a mediation.

“Hi,” said Cress, breaking into the awkward silence.

Cinder dropped her oar.

“Hi Cress,” Iko said brightly. “We were just leaving!”

“Okay,” said Cress. She was growing more confused by the second.

“Yes,” added Cinder. “We are leaving, to go…um…”

She trailed off, looking helplessly at Iko.

“We are leaving to go make sure everything is ready!” Iko trilled without missing a beat.

Cress stared.

“Yes,” Cinder repeated. “To make sure everything is ready.” She paused. “For the lanterns.”

Iko grimaced. Thorne slowly brought his free hand up to cover his face.

“You could stay here,” Cress offered, but Iko had already seized Cinder’s elbow and was dragging her unceremoniously through the door.

“Nope!” she hollered. “We have to go now! Gotta make sure all those lanterns are ready!”

The two of them disappeared, slamming the wooden door behind them. For a moment, there was utter silence.

“Well,” Thorne said. “Ignore all that.”

“Absolutely,” Cress agreed.

She walked toward him. The darkening ripples of the lake lapped rhythmically against the dock. The rowboat shifted and swayed, its quiet knocking noises harmonizing with the murmur of the water.

Thorne held out his hand, and with a smile, Cress took it.

“Would you, oh fair princess, permit me to join you in the royal barge,”—he paused, allowing Cress to glance skeptically at the rowboat—“as you view tonight’s annual festival of lanterns?”

Cress giggled at his thick attempt at chivalry. She replied: “It would be my honor, Captain Thorne.”

Because if there was one surefire way to make Carswell Thorne melt into putty, it was by calling him captain. Unprompted.

Thorne rowed them into the middle of the lake without too much incident. While he wrestled with the oars, Cress caught glimpses of familiar faces as they passed by the glowing city.

Cinder and Kai sat on the edge of an abandoned dock, leaning against each other and tossing pebbles into the water. From a distance, Cress saw Jacin unsuccessfully attempting to weave a flower crown for Winter, while Iko supervised—and eventually took over—the task. Scarlet and Wolf leaned out one of the lower palace balconies, gazing contentedly up into the cloudless sky.

The sun dropped steadily into the far side of the lake. When its descent was nearly complete, the first lanterns began rising.

“I brought supplies,” Thorne said. He pulled a paper lantern out from under his seat and lit it. When he handed the lantern over, his fingers lingered on hers.

“Hey, Cress.”

“Hm?”

His hand moved farther, cupping her smaller one. Over the top of the lantern, he flashed her a blinding smile.

“Do you think this lighting flatters my skin?”

Cress burst in laughter. It was just such a “Thorne” thing to say in a moment of tenderness that she couldn’t even feign annoyance.

“That’s a trick question,” she said. “Your skin looks perfect in every kind of light.”

Without waiting for him to respond, she launched the lantern upward to join its fellows. Before she could take her hand back, Thorne caught it and wove their fingers together.

Cress looked up at him. His throat bobbed as he swallowed.

“Cress.”

“Hm?”

His fingers tightened.

“I love you.”

The water nudged the sides of the rowboat, making the oars clatter gently against their moorings. Far away, people chattered on the docks and in the market square. Cress heard none of it.

“I love you, too.”

And she kissed him there, underneath a thousand candles.

Afterward, Thorne pulled her over to his side. The rowboat sank down on that end, tipping Cress directly into his lap. She squeaked, reddening up to the tips of her ears, and Thorne’s chuckle rumbled through her. He pressed his lips to the top of her head, wrapping his arms securely around her waist.

This was exactly the kind of world Crescent Moon had imagined. This was the world she had waited for, the one that was ready for her.

She was among her stars.


End file.
